


Companions React to Getting Sick, and Having the Sole Survivor Nurse Them Back to Health

by tea_petty



Series: Collection of Companions' Reactions [19]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Companions, Companions React, F/M, M/M, sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 01:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16985772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: The Sole Survivor gains a rank in Medic.





	Companions React to Getting Sick, and Having the Sole Survivor Nurse Them Back to Health

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

**Ada** : “Sir – “Ada’s voice dropped suddenly with a crackle of static, warping as though an unexpected electrical current cut through her circuits.

Sole turned, frowning as Ada clambered towards him.

“Ada, are you alright?”

“I – appeared to have caught a – virus – “Ada said, every few words punctuated by a similar warp in her voice module’s output.

“A virus?  Like someone hacked you or something?”

“Not ex…actly.” Ada’s chassis buzzed as if bees had decided to take up residence in the robot.

Sole suspected this might be the robot equivalent of catching one’s breath.

“My fac-ulties are not so easily – mani-pulated.  But – it is possible – a malicious trans-mission garnered access – on our trav-els.  And paved the way – for malware to – engage with my systems.”

“Oh, Ada,” Sole breathed and hurriedly tried to steady her before he realized the robot may not need the assistance. He settled for placing a hand on her shoulder. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“The robot work-bench should have a – standard mechanism for – dealing with mal-ware,” Ada explained and nodded in the general direction of a workbench. “If you just – dock me there – I should be – back to normal in – app-roximately – seventeen hours.”

“Got it.” Sole awkwardly maneuvered himself around Ada as she continued to inch towards the robot workbench a few meters away.  “Do you…can I…?”

“No worries sir – I’m quite cap-able of – walk-ing myself.”

Sole watched as Ada’s leg stuttered for half a second, before returning to the regularity of her mechanical gait.  Sole furrowed his eyebrows, doubtful.  A few minutes later, Ada was docked securely at the workbench.

“Alright, so what now?”

Ada’s head twitched, seemingly involuntarily.

“Now – you must – click the re-boot option on the – terminal, but – be care-ful not – to – to – to-“

Suddenly, Ada’s voice module skipped, the warping of it becoming more violent, as a harsh buzzing emitted from her.  Sole startled, before springing into action, and leaping to the nearby terminal.  Sole logged in as quickly as he could, his fingers tripping over one another in their haste.  Sole’s eyes hurriedly traced down the list of options the terminal gave him:  _Quit, Reboot Local, Reboot Final_.

“Crap,” Sole muttered, “which one did she tell me not to press?”

His cursor flicked back and forth between the Local and Final options.  _Which reboot?_   Sole’s stomach sank on  _Reboot Final_  – maybe his gut just hated the irreversible nature the second word held, or maybe some recess in his brain had stored useful information that let him pick, but in the next instance, Sole was clicking  _Reboot Local_.  The terminal screen stalled for a moment, before a loading progress bar appeared.  Sole held his breath as it filled, looking anxiously over to Ada.

Her metal had gone cold in her lack of activity.  The terminal dinged optimistically:  _Initialization Complete!  Restarting now…Estimated Time of Completion: 17h 32m_

Sole let out a long breath of relief; Ada had definitely mentioned a similar time frame.  Sole’s knees went weak, and he sank on to the ground, next to Ada’s still form.  He raised a knuckle to knock lightly against the hollow metal of her leg. “Get well soon, see you when you wake up.”

**Cait** : Sole poked his head through the doorway of Cait’s room when he heard a pained moan. 

“Cait?” he called. “What’s wrong?”

Cait didn’t answer.  Sole watched the frantic rise and fall of her chest, and the exhausting way her lungs fought to bring in air.  He noticed her shivering beneath the thick blanket and his eyebrows furrowed.

“You look like you’re sick.”

“Your powers of observation are astounding.”

Sole approached her sickly form, growing more worried as more of her state was revealed the closer he got.  Sweat gleamed on her clammy skin, and her complexion was haggard.  Sole smoothed his hand against her forehead, grimly unsurprised by the feverish heat that radiated from her.

“Definitely have a fever,” Sole murmured.

“You don’t say?” 

Cait’s breath left her lips in sharp pants; Sole had never seen her look so fragile before.

“If it’s just a fever, we can easily get you back to normal with some rest and fluids.”

Sole sympathetically drew a hand down the length of her body, over the blankets.  He watched as Cait relaxed slightly into his touch, until stiffening and jerking away when he reached about halfway down.  Cait whimpered painfully, and Sole yanked his hand back.  Unless…it’s not just a fever?

Sole drew the covers back. Cait’s curled form nursed her bandaged, right forearm in the center of her pose.  Gently, Sole tried to untangle it from her, so he could get a better look; Cait was too weak to resist.  Sole lightly peeled back the gauze wrappings, each layer getting darker and darker with dried blood.  Eventually, Sole reached the final layer, caked with dirt and blood.   A putrid stench assaulted Sole’s nostrils, and he had to breathe through his mouth to prevent from gagging.  Sole revealed Cait’s wound; a long, narrow gash marred her pale skin.  Dried pus around the angry red wound indicated its age.  Yellow and black gangrenous flesh bordered the ragged outline of the wound.

“Christ,” Sole breathed.

Cait cracked open an eye to gaze blearily up at Sole. “I know, it got real bad.”

Sole’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why did you let it get this bad?”

“Ye know how I feel about doctors—“ Cait winced and moved to cover the wound “— an’ I’ve always managed alrigh’ by meself.” 

Cait’s voice was weak, despite the tremendous effort it took for her to speak at all.  Sole gently placed her arm down.

“Stay put and rest.  I’ll be right back, I’m getting Curie.”

As Sole turned to leave, he felt a slight tug at his sleeve.  He looked back to find Cait’s fingers caught the hem of his shirt – purely visual, should he have really wanted to leave, he could’ve broken free in an instant.

“D-Don’t go,” Cait pleaded, unbridled panic slipping through now that she was too fatigued to be distrustful.

Sole gently uncurled her fingers and set her hand back at her side, before drawing the blankets up to her neck.

“I’ll be right back – but we need a doctor now.”

Sole left, feeling Cait’s feverish eyes on his back.  
  
He returned with Curie, a box full of a antibiotics, clean gauze, rubbing alcohol, and a stimpak.  Cait balked when she saw Curie’s face tucked behind a medical mask.

“Hey, it’s alright Cait, we’re going to get you fixed up now,” Sole soothed.

Cait continued to struggle as Curie knelt by her bedside and attempted to raise the tri-tubed antibiotic syringe needle to her skin.

“I need you to ‘old still please, Mademoiselle.”

Sole sat perched on the side of Cait’s bed, careful not to jostle her too much.  He softly braced a hand below the wound, pinning her forearm, before using his other hand to reach over and thread his fingers through hers, effectively pinning the other side.

“It might hurt a little, but then you’ll feel much better,”  Sole reassured her.  

Cait hesitated before nodding shakily and squeezing at Sole’s hand.  She was so weak, he could barely register the touch.  Sole looked back to Curie and nodded.

“Little pinch,” she murmured, inserting the needle into the wound, and emptying the contents of the syringe into Cait’s arm.

Cait winced, but the squeezing at Sole’s hand subsided.

“See?  What wasn’t so bad, right?”

“Don’ talk to me like I’m a child.”  Cait glowered at him, but it lacked the bite Cait’s words usually had.

Sole gave a small smile – at least she was a little more responsive now.  Sole glanced back at Curie, watching her as she took out the rubbing alcohol, and unscrewed the cap.  

“Alright, so this next part is going to sting a lot,” Sole warned, “Curie needs to clean your wound though.”

Cait’s breathing hitched in her throat, and Sole smoothed his thumb comfortingly across the back of her hand.

“You can squeeze as much as you want.”

Cait’s breathing hastened as Curie raised the bottle.  Then, she was splashing the stinging liquid into the wound.  Cait let out a pained screech as she strained against Sole’s grip.  Sole noticed the new fortitude in Cait’s grip as pain contorted her muscles and forced her to tense.  Curie waited a few moments; for the alcohol to work and for Cait to relax.  Cait’s pained cries began to subside, trailing off into a small whimper, before disappearing all together. Cait’s arm tensed as stinging pain commandeered it; but her breathing seemed to take less effort now, despite the frantic rising and falling of her chest.

Curie used a kerchief to dab at the wound, drying any small pools of isopropyl that gathered.  Cait hissed in pain, but continued to hold steady, still squeezing Sole’s hand.

“Now I’ll just finish rebandaging eet and finish up with a stimpak,”  Curie informed.

“See?  The hard part’s over.”

Cait rolled her eyes; slowly gathering her strength back, although still not able to sit up on her own.  Sole plumped up the pillows beneath her and helped shift her so that she could sit upright.

“I told ye, I’m no child.”  

The weak smile that played at Cait’s lips was much more gracious than her words; but Sole had figured such nuances out long ago, earlier on in his travels with her.  Curie methodically wrapped Cait’s arm, securing the end of the gauze with two safety pins.  Cait was much more cooperative with the stimpak needle, than the other, as Curie inserted it into the play of muscle at her shoulder, before tossing the empty syringe into the box she had entered with.

“Zhere.  Ye should be good as new een a few days,” Curie said with a smile, “But, next time, come see me right away! Eet will save you a lot of trouble!”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks Curie.”  Cait waved at her dismissively with her good hand, as she took her leave.

Then there were two.  Cait turned to face Sole, grinning as a pink hue stained her cheeks.

“An’ thank ye too.  For, ye know, being here.”

Sole answered her smile with his own lopsided one.  “Of course, Cait.”

Cait shifted so that Sole was supporting her now.  Curiously, Sole watched as she awkwardly curled her good arm around his shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze.

“No really, thank ye.  I don’ have many people I can count on, and ye’ve never once let me down,” she said quietly.

Sole’s arm which had curled around her waist to support her in her journey from pillows to his shoulders, squeezed back. 

“And I mean it, of course, Cait. Anytime.”

**Codsworth** : “What do you suppose is wrong with him?”  Nora asked curiously.

“I’m not sure, I was never much of a terminal guy myself,”  Sole admitted.

“Hm.” Nora grabbed the instruction manual laying next to Codsworth’s still form, laying sprawled on the floor.

Sole’s wife flipped through it, and he watched as her gaze skimmed through the pages.  Her fingers lithe movements setting the pace for which her mind could easily keep up with; a pace that would leave Sole staggering behind.  
 _She’s so smart – I’m so proud of her._

Sole couldn’t help but smile; his lovely wife and him would no doubt find a way to fix their faithful butler. Shaun would wake up from his nap in an hour, and that evening all of them would convene for a family dinner.  Tomorrow, he would give his Veterans’ speech, and the day after that, who knew?

He, Nora, Shaun and Codsworth would go about, living their lives; the days of war were behind Sole – he could relax now, for this sense of security was not a false one.  Nora’s gaze flicked up to meet Sole’s, watching him watch her.

“Enjoying the view?”  She raised an eyebrow.

“Always,” Sole chuckled.

“While your mind was busy in the gutter, I think I found out what’s wrong with Codsworth.”

Nora scooched closer to Sole, angling the manual so that he could better see.  One manicured nail tapped at a specific part on the page;  _Warning:  Failure to clear enough space for update clearance may lead to the override of data!_   _In case of essential data deletion, restore to previous version by verbal code: muon – 8 – Teflon._

“Huh.” Sole squinted, trying to make sense of the strange sequence of words.

“Yeah,” Nora agreed, “in any case though, it’s supposed to work.  Shall we give it a go?”

Sole hesitated, not sure how to form the unfamiliar string. “Muon eight Teflon.”

Suddenly a whirring sound emitted from within Codsworth, followed by a dainty click.  With a mechanical buzz, Codsworth’s lens’ opened up, and raised alertly.  Soon after, the rest of him followed, the small jet beneath him activating so that he hovered a few feet off the ground, his limbs no longer useless appendages sprawled on the floor.

“Sir, Mum, it’s you!  I thought I was a goner for sure!”

“Sorry Codsworth, something must’ve gone wrong with the update,”  Sole apologized.

“No harm no foul – if I may though, perhaps we can skip out on updates for the immediate future?  I rather like keeping my wits about me, thank you.”

“Sure thing, Codsworth.”

Codsworth hovered into the kitchen, and checked the time on the stove’s digital display.

“By Jove!  It’s getting late.  Mum, shall I wake Sir Shaun from his nap?”

Nora laughed. “Don’t worry Codsworth, I’ve got him.”

“Very good!  I’ll start dinner then.”

“Thank you Codsworth,”  Nora called as she headed down the hallway to get Shaun.

Sole’s gaze trailed after her as she left.

“Mum is most wonderful, you’re a lucky man, if I may say so Sir.”

“I sure am.” Sole smiled softly.  

Sole heard the popping sound of the stove starting up, followed by the sizzling of the pan, as the aroma of dinner began to waft through the air.  From the other room, Sole could hear Nora cooing to a drowsy Shaun, who babbled nonsensically in his mother’s arms. Outside, the sun was setting on Sanctuary Hills.  Sole imagined ending each day like this for the years to come.  Dinner with the family, Shaun coming home from soccer practice, him and Nora growing old together.  Life was good.

**Curie** : Sole knocked gently against the wall upon entering the clinic; essentially Curie’s own makeshift private practice in one of the many remains from the homes that used to make up Sanctuary Hills.

“Knock, knock.”

Curie whipped around to face him, and Sole was immediately taken by her haggard appearance.  Her eyebrows were furrowed, as her fingers pressed demandingly against her temples, as if willing the intricate system between her ears to conjure up the answer she sought.

“Oh, ‘ello zhere Sole.”

“I just came over to say ‘hi’,” Sole said as an awkward silence followed.  “So, uh, hi.”

“Yes, ‘ello.”  Curie stared at him expectantly.

Sole nodded and glanced around, searching for anything that might kill the painful silence.

“Is zhere somesing else you need?”  Curie asked, as she drummed her fingers against the a table.

“Well, no, I just thought I’d check up on you – see how you’re adjusting to the human body and such.”

“Quite fine, sank you.  But now eef you don’t mind, I do ‘ave work to do.”

“Right.”

Curie turned back to her notes, laid out on the desk in front of her.  Sole lingered behind; it wasn’t like Curie to lose her patience like that.  Suddenly, Curie sighed before turning back to him again.

“What?  What eez eet?”  she snapped.

“I just…are you sure you’re alright?  You seem a little…you just don’t seem like yourself, is all.”

Curie glared at him for a few moments, before it faltered, and her temper seemed to melt away as she burst into tears.  Sole gaped at her before rushing to her side.

“Curie?”

“I-I’m sorry,” she blubbered, “I-I just don’t know why, b-but I can’t s-seem to sh-shake zhis awful mood!”

Sole raised a tentative hand to her back, patting awkwardly.

“I-I can’t s-s-sleep!  M-My research doesn’t c-c-captivate me like eet used to! A-And I d-don’t know what to d-do about it!”  Curie’s shoulders shook as she sniffled noisily.

Sole reached into the pocket of his trousers, to fish out a kerchief before handing it to Curie.  She accepted it and dabbed at her eyes before blowing her nose into it.

“W-What eef I can’t d-do anything about eet?”

Sole grimaced sympathetically; he forgot how rough transitioning to a human body, with the capacity to feel all these…human things, must be for her.  Curie’s probably never experienced emotional exhaustion and wasn’t equipped to handle feelings of helplessness.

“You know, I don’t think you  _can_  always fix it, at least not right away.”

Curie sniffled again and blinked wetly at him.

“Sometimes people just feel…sad, and if something big happens, I think you have to let yourself feel it, so you can process it, and then move on,”  Sole continued.

“But what eef eet never goes away?  Zhis feeling?”  Curie hiccupped.

“If it drags on, then we can look at it then. But it won’t last forever, I promise there’s a way to fix it.”  Sole gave Curie a small smile. “It’s not hopeless, even if it feels that way, okay?”

A wobbly smile played at Curie’s lips, before she hiccupped again, and a few more tears leaked from her eyes.  Sole leaned in to wrap his arms around Curie, trapping her in a big bear hug.

“It’ll be alright, okay?”

“You can’t possibly know zhat,” she said.

“You and I, we’ll do whatever you need us to do until it is.”

He felt Curie apprehensively reach up to curl her own arms lightly over his shoulders, her fingers digging into his back as another round of tears came about.

“O-Okay,”  she murmured as he held her.

**Danse** :  Danse’s eyes shot open in the middle of the night as a terrible churning sensation befell his stomach.  His stomach rumbled ominously, and then Danse was hightailing it out of his room and racing out into the chilly Sanctuary night in just his briefs and a t-shirt.  He fell to his knees at the edge of the overhang right off Sole’s house; where he was crashing while in Sanctuary with them.  Danse’s stomach heaved the contents of his dinner from a few hours prior, as the sickly substance dripped off the leaves and fronds of the bushes he’d victimized.

A sigh sounded from behind him, and Danse didn’t need to look back to know that it was Sole, perched against one of the pillars supporting the overhang.

“Food poisoning?”

Danse groaned, one hand nursing his stomach as he doubled over.  Sole stooped down to pat his back.

“C’mon, we should get you back to bed, you’re obviously sick.”

“No,” Danse gasped.

“You think you’re going to be sick again?”

“Go away.” Danse swatted at Sole.

“Danse, you’re sick, you need help.”

“No-” he groaned again, before he was cut off by another spell of vomit.

“Just get it all out, you’ll feel better when you do.”  Sole rubbed at Danse’s back soothingly.

“Seriously, go away – “Danse hacked and sputtered as a dribble of puke clung to his bottom lip.

“I’m just trying to help,” Sole snapped. “So why don’t you let me, dammit?”

Danse ran a wrist roughly across his mouth, before turning around to face Sole, and slumping against the wall of the house.

“You can’t help me, it’s food poisoning, I just need to ride it out.”

Sole threw his hands up exasperatedly. “Alright then, let me help you do that more easily!”

“Damn it Sole, I said  _no_!”

Silence rang out and Sole crossed his arms, frowning deeply.

“Fine.” Sole turned around to head back into the house.   _Sit in a puddle of your puke all night for all I care then._

“I don’t want you to see me like this, again.”

It was so faint that Sole wasn’t even sure he’d heard it.

“I didn’t want you to have to help me, again.”

Sole turned around again, arms still crossed.

“What do you mean, ‘again’?”

Danse took a moment to gather his energy; the only non-feeble thing about him was his gaze, as it bore into Sole.

“When we found out that I was…not human, you saved me, even though it compromised your place in the Brotherhood.  You fought for my life.”

“And I’d do it a thousand times over if I had to,”  Sole said resolutely.

“That’s – “Danse winced as a sick pang pricked at his gut “—That’s not the point.  You shouldn’t have to.”

Sole sighed, before descending to join Danse on the floor.  He leaned away from him, but Sole, noticing this, stubbornly scooched right next to him, so that the length of his arm was pressing against Danse’s.  He was warm, and not unpleasantly so, even through the thin layers of clothes that separated them.

“This isn’t that,” Sole began, “you’re just sick, that’s all.  This isn’t a big deal, so let me help you.”

Danse looked at Sole doubtfully.

“You’d do the same for me,” Sole argued.

Relief flooded into Danse’s gaze.

“I would,” he admitted.

Silence befell them again, this time one born of mutual understanding, rather than that of conversation hitting the wall someone erected.

“Alright then, so it’s settled.” Sole clapped his hands down against his thighs before rising to his feet once again.  “You finish…doing what you’ve got to do, and then I’ll help you back to bed, and make sure you don’t die a gross, pukey death.”

Danse grimaced.

“I suppose that works for me.”

Sole smiled, even when Danse scampered onto all fours once again, to retch into the bushes.

“Besides, if you really wanted to pay me back, you could always plant me some new bushes when this is all over.”  Sole wrinkled his nose at the ones dripping in Danse.  “Those are probably goners.”

Danse groaned.

**Deacon** : Deacon curled up in a fetal position on one of the dingy mattresses tucked in the Railroad HQ, his arms folded protectively over his stomach.  He let out a pained groaned, and Sole’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Deacon, you okay?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.  It just feels like my stomach is trying to claw its way out from the inside.”

Sole cocked an eyebrow. “So your stomach hurts?”

“Yeah and, I dunno I just feel really weak.  I must be getting sick or something.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Carrington called from his spot at the chemistry station.  “He’s a hypochondriac with a strained relationship with the truth, at best.  You do the math.”

Sole glanced at Deacon skeptically. “He’s got a point. Although—“ he turned his attention back to Carrington “— if he really is sick, and we don’t do anything just because Deacon is, well, Deacon, there could be some serious consequences.”

“Ha!”  Deacon looked at Carrington, before a fit of coughing overtook him.

Sole turned to Deacon. “You rest there, I’m going to make you some soup. Hopefully it’ll help you keep your strength up if nothing else.”

“Thanks Sole.” Deacon fell silent and curled further into himself.

Sole headed to one of the small, back corners of Railroad Headquarters; the one with a small stove, food rations, and a meager assortment of utensils.  Setting some water to boil, Sole began chopping up carrots and tatos. After adding the vegetables, he set to ripping bits of radstag meat from the bone, letting them drop into the soup with a few quiet plops.  When the meat was deboned, Sole dropped the bone in as well, hoping to add some flavor to the inevitably bland broth (if you could even call it that).  When Sole was content with how long it cooked, he threw in a dash of corn, and busied himself with adding a few more spices before turning the stove off.  Sole let the contents of the pot simmer down slowly enough so that the last ingredient he added would be cooked to perfection by the time he got it into a bowl, and to Deacon.

When Sole returned to Deacon, Carrington was begrudgingly shoving pillows behind him, in an attempt to get him to sit up straight.  Desdemona watched, somewhat amused, her arms folded skeptically.

“Hey Dez.” Sole nodded to her as he passed by, careful not to spill the steaming bowl of soup.

Sole glanced around as Carrington glared at Deacon as he accepted the soup from Sole.  Desdemona also seemed oddly entranced by the arbitrary exchange.

“What’s going on?” Sole raised his eyebrows.

“Nothing.”

“Desdemona wants to see if Deacon was lying after all.  She started a betting pool with Glory.” Carrington scoffed.

A few yards away, Sole could see Glory peering curiously over to where they stood as well.

“I told you, I’m not lying!”  Deacon said indignantly, before he blew at the spoonful of soup.

Everyone watched expectantly as he polished off the soup.  Placing the empty bowl down beside him he watched a few moments, thoughtful.  An anticipating hush overtook the main room.

“I feel much better,” Deacon said brightly, “thank you again, Sole.”

“Wait,” Carrington demanded, “you feel completely better now?  Food’s not a cure.”

Realization hit Sole. “It is if you’re hungry.  What were your symptoms again?”

Sole turned to Deacon.

“My stomach hurt, and I felt really weak,” Deacon reiterated. “little dizzy even.”

A pregnant pause settled on the room, before it erupted into commotion.  Some threw up their hands in exasperation or smacked their hands against their foreheads.  Others laughed good naturedly.

“Crap,” Glory muttered, fishing a handful of caps out of the pocket of her trousers, and dropping them into Desdemona’s outstretched hand, a smug look on the latter’s face.

**Dogmeat: “** Dogmeat!” Sole scanned his immediate surroundings, searching for the familiar cock of Dogmeat’s head. “Dogmeat?  C’mon, where are you, boy?”

Sole leaned against the entryway of his Sanctuary home and poked his head out to do a quick sweep of the still neighborhood.  In the midst of his quiet concentration, a thin noise hovered at the edge of his focus. Akin to a mosquito buzzing; the sort of noise he had automatically pushed to the back of his mind.  When Sole finally humored it after a few moments, a familiar twinge squeezed at his chest.  He’d heard that noise after various scuffles he’d engaged with in the Commonwealth, Dogmeat faithfully at his side – sometimes to a fault.  The sound often warranted stimpak usage.

If Sole had ears like Dogmeat, they’d be pricked and  swiveling to find just the right angle that would allow him to discern a solid, audible trail.  The whine became more pronounced.  Sole set off at a steady pace, heading further down the Sanctuary street.  The high-pitched whining gradually became louder. It wasn’t until the direction the sound was coming from suddenly appeared to be from below, that Sole found himself at the top of the steep riverbank grazing the perimeter of the settlement.

In the throes of one of the Commonwealth’s hottest summers to date (according to  an indifferent Nick), the water had dwindled away, reduced to nothing more than a steep, muddy trench.  Peering over the edge, Sole picked out Dogmeat’s form.  His fur was caked in mud and dirt, and he was limping, nursing one of his front paws pitifully.  Even from where Sole was standing, he was appalled at how  _small_ Dogmeat appeared. Even taking into account his thick fur, slicked down with muck, Sole would bet that once he got down there, he’d be able to pick out a few ribs.  Guilt gnawed at Sole – just how long had it been since he’d last checked up on Dogmeat anyways?  He’d left him at Sanctuary before whilst traveling – if Sole hadn’t come back when he’d had, no one might’ve found him in time.  The steep walls of the riverbed seemed much more foreboding without the smooth surface of the water to offset the height.  It was no wonder Dogmeat had gotten stuck, combined with the weakness that followed skipping meals for the past few days…

Sole half scampered, half slid down the slope, before coming clumsily to a halt at the riverbed, his feet sinking into the soft silt.  Too tired to lift his head, Dogmeat pricked his ears, as he let out a weak yelp.

Sole made his way over to Dogmeat. “Hey boy, is this where you’ve been all this time?”

Dogmeat’s tongue darted out to lap at Sole’s outstretched hand, and Sole let him briefly before reaching over to scratch gently behind his ears.

“You must be hungry. What do you say I take you back home, and we’ll get you all fixed up?”

Dogmeat let out a garbled noise, followed closely by another bark.

“Alright buddy, c’mon then.”

Readying his stance to ensure balance in the slippery conditions, Sole stooped down and carefully reached his arms around Dogmeat.  Shock at how light Dogmeat was made Sole’s chest squeeze again, and he frowned.

“I’m sorry Dogmeat,” he said quietly.

Dogmeat whined from his place in Sole’s grasp.  Shifting slightly to adjust his hold on Dogmeat, Sole continued to trudge down the length of the riverbed, until he managed to seek out a more gradual incline, so that he could take Dogmeat home.

**Hancock** :  Sole cracked the door to Hancock’s private quarters open, careful to let in only the smallest sliver of light from the hallway.

“Hancock?”  Sole’s voice was low, cautious.

A few notes of silence fell before Sole heard the ghoul croak out a raspier than usual “Yeah?”

Sole let himself in, shutting the door carefully behind him; Hancock had specified his need for utmost privacy when he decided to get clean.  The room was dark and dingy despite it being midday.  The curtains at the windows were drawn tightly shut, and a foul smell lingered in the air.  Sole’s eyes scanned the room as they adjusted to the dark; Hancock’s bed and couch were both empty.  The mayor of Goodneighbor’s iconic ensemble was neatly set up at his desk; his coat hanging off the back of the chair, his hat sitting atop the desk itself, and his boots at the foot of the wooden swivel chair.  It was as if Hancock himself had been sitting there, when some unknown force simply plucked him out of the scene.  After another look through, Sole managed to spot Hancock’s huddled form in one of the far corners of the room.

“Withdrawal symptoms?”  Sole asked, as he carefully picked his way through the dark, to the ghoul in the corner.

At the back of his mind, he was careful not to accidentally step in whatever could be causing such a terrible stench.  When Sole got closer, his eyes now adjusted to the absence of light, he could see that Hancock was in fact, suffering from withdrawal symptoms.  They looked just as gaunt on him, as they had on Cait.  He could recognize a few right off the bat; the vicious tension in his muscles, flexed so starkly that they looked like they might rip right through his radiation ravaged skin.  Despite the incredible tension that held Hancock’s body tautly upright, his head swayed slightly, and his breathing was labored, every few breaths even stuttering as it escaped his mouth.

“Ah…” Hancock groaned, “My skin…it’s  _tingling_.  Haven’t felt that since…I ghoulified myself.”

Sole knelt beside Hancock, “Is there anything you need?  Anything I can do?”

Hancock’s voice buzzed slightly as he tried and failed a few times to respond, the symptoms of his withdrawal fighting every attempt at control his body made.

“N-No,” he finally managed, “j-just need to –“  Hancock shuddered, “-ride it out, you know?”

Sole frowned, his eyebrows furrowing.

“You don’t need water or anything?  Food?”

Hancock’s attempt at a smile fell flatly into a grimace, “I…don’t think I could keep anything down, and I have water.”

It was then Sole noticed the conglomerate of water tins on the nightstand a few feet away; some standing at the read, and others toppled over, empty.

“This ain’t my…first rodeo, you know?”

Sole made a face, “No, I suppose not.”

“But then again, I guess this ain’t yours either.”

“Not in this position,” Sole admitted.

A sharp gasp of air left Hancock, and if his breathing hadn’t been ragged, Sole would’ve thought it was a laugh.

“How about I just sit with you then?”

Hancock looked like he was about to dismiss the offer, before another violent bout of shivering wracked his body.

“…I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

Sole shifted so that he was sitting on his butt now, settling in.  The war in Hancock’s body raged on.

**MacCready** :  MacCready sneezed from his place at the table, and Sole frowned sympathetically.

“It’s almost done.  This should help clear you right up; Nora used to make it all the time, so I can vouch for it.”

Sole stirred the pot from its place over the heating plate, the prickle of the stew’s aroma as it tickled his nose alluding to the spicy kick he put inside.

“G-Good! –“

Whatever MacCready was about to say next was cut off by another loud sneeze.  Frustratedly, the former Gunner brought his wrist roughly across his nose.

“Are you sure you’re not getting sick?”  Sole asked skeptically.

“Yeah, yeah, they’re just allergies or something.”  MacCready sniffled.

He was settling into another bout of coughing and hacking when Sole had turned the heat down, and began dishing up the stew.  Wisps of steam wafted up and curled enticingly as Sole poured the scalding concoction into one of the few bowls, he and MacCready had gotten to cleaning that week.  Sole picked up a soon and carefully lifted the bowl, attentive to not spill.  When he placed it in front of MacCready, the sniper had a kerchief pressed tightly to his mouth, as he struggled to stifle his violent coughs.  Sole patted MacCready’s back firmly, emptying the smaller man of the last of his coughs for now. MacCready pulled the kerchief away after a few moments, his eyebrows shooting up at what he found seeping into the fabric.

“Oh!”

Sole startled at the blossom of red.

“’Oh’ is right,” MacCready agreed, before he shoved the kerchief into the pocket of his tattered duster, “Christ, first Duncan with his mystery illness, and now mine.”

Sole’s face was pensive, “Hang on – actually, I think I’ve seen this before.”

“So, what’s the verdict, doc?”

“I think you have pneumonia.”

MacCready stared blankly at Sole.

“Pneu-what-a?”

“ _Pneumonia_.  It’s an infection in your lungs.  It was pretty common back in pre-war days.”

Sole squeezed MacCready’s shoulder, “In any case, it’s not difficult to treat – the main thing is that we caught it, so you’ll need antibiotics, rest, and lots of fluids.”

“Rest?”  MacCready made a face, “for how long?”

Sole shrugged, “I can’t remember exactly, days?  Maybe a week or two? It varies between people.”

“ _Weeks_?”

Sole raised his hands in surrender, “Hey – like I said, it varies between people.”

MacCready slumped down in his seat, the prospects of being kept from the open road weighing him down.  Sole sighed sympathetically and smoothed his hand from MacCready’s shoulder to the back of his neck and upwards, running his fingers through his hair.

“I know, but if you don’t take time to recuperate, you’ll get worse, and then you’ll have to be bedridden even longer.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”  MacCready grumbled.

“So…always?” Sole quipped back.

Sole reached to remove MacCready’s hat, before playfully swatting at him with it.

“You should go and change into some pajamas or something, before heading to bed.”

Reluctantly, MacCready got up and headed down the hallway, towards the bedroom, grumbling the whole way.

**Nick Valentine** :  “What?  Didn’t find what you were looking for the first time?” Kellogg’s smug voice shot, from Nick.

Sole flinched as Dr. Amari took her seat behind Nick’s lounger, in the room where they had sat just a week before, sifting through Kellogg’s brain matter.

“Please fix him,”  Sole said to Dr. Amari, his voice tight.

Her dark gaze flicked to Sole, “I’ll do my best.  We knew there were…risks at attempting such a feat though, so I would…prepare yourself.”

Sole took a deep breath, trying to steady the agitated tremor that had monopolized his hands, as he watched Dr. Amari plug in a new device, where she had plugged in Kellogg’s brain chip, a week prior.

“So, how is this supposed to work again?”

“This new implant is similar to what housed Kellogg’s memories and personality.  My hope is to use this clean one to store…whatever’s left of Kellog in Nick.  Ideally, anyways.”  Dr. Amari’s focused gaze never left the device.

“Sort of like sucking venom from a snake wound?”  Sole suggested.

The corner of Dr. Amari’s lips curved up slightly, “That’s one way to think of it.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

The silence that trailed after Sole’s question stroked his nerves to life, until every fiber in his being seemed to thirst for an answer he knew Dr. Amari couldn’t give him.  That didn’t sate his need for it though.

“Like I said, you might want to prepare yourself.”

Sole swallowed nervously, and turned to Nick, his eyes shut, as his personal interface shut down in favor for whatever internal processes this strange device required.  This must’ve been the equivalent of brain surgery, Sole thought.  Sole was never a doctor, but he could recall terrible stories of people, from pre-war days, who had gotten brain surgeries and woken up never to be the same again.  Or worse yet, they just never woke up.

Sole’s palms grew clammy, as with each passing second, he seemed to wind himself tighter and tighter.  After what felt like years, Sole was just about ready to break open the lounger that encased Nick, before Dr. Amari released the device from it’s port at the back of the lounger.

“Alright, the procedure’s over.  He should be waking up in a few minutes.”

Anxiously, Sole flew to Nick’s bedside, and peered inside, fingers pressed against the smooth metal as the top floated open.  Seconds passed, but to Sole it could’ve been several spans of eternity, as his heart raced, counting every instance Nick’s eyes remained shut.  Sole let out a shaky breath, his grip at the edge of the lounger tightening, the skin stretching across his knuckles whitening with strain.

“I’ll…leave you two alone,”  Dr. Amari said quietly, as she took one last look at Sole’s desperate form, clinging to Nick’s bedside, before she turned and headed back to the main level of the Memory Den.

Hot, angry tears budded at the corners of Sole’s eyes, and he reached up to wipe at them furiously, before sinking down, and bowing his head; trying to process his despair in as much privacy as he could muster without leaving Nick’s side.

A ragged sob bubbled up in Sole’s chest, and a hysterical gasp tore from his throat, the first impact of what it might be like if Nick didn’t wake up, hitting him like a train.  Crushing grief followed, driving the remaining air from Sole’s lungs.  He whimpered.

“Hey now, what’s all this for?” An exasperated voice sounded from over Sole.

Sole’s head jerked up, his eyebrows up in surprise, but his eyes still brimming with wetness.

“Nick?”

The synth gave his familiar, lopsided smile.

“Hey kid, long time no see.”

“Oh God, it sure felt like it,” Sole threw his arms around Nick, wrapping him up into a bear hug.

Nick returned the hug with the same vigor Sole had in initiating it, his wiry hand patting less enthusiastically than his good one.

“I thought you were gone,”  Sole breathed, “Amari told me to prepare myself and I – oh God,”

Sole pulled away to study Nick’s face, “That’s what doctors say before people die, you know?  I just…I was so scared.”

Nick gave Sole’s shoulder a squeeze, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Sole let out another ragged breath, before drawing another in.

“Seriously kid, I’m fine,”

“Sure, I know that,” Sole gave Nick a wobbly smile.

“Really, everything’s good.  Kellogg’s gone, and I’m back.  For good.”

Sole tried to let out another deep breath in an attempt to steady himself, but the anguished cry that left him seemed to open the floodgates on every other painstaking emotion he had kept bottled up throughout the past week.  Sole’s eyes streamed, as he gasped for air, unable to keep up with the sudden rush of emotion that poured from him.  Sole’s clamped a hand over his eyes, his shoulders shaking.  Nick slung his good arm around Sole’s shoulders.

“There, there.”

**Longfellow** :  The house was eerily cold and quiet when Sole woke up that morning.  Usually, Longfellow was up hours before Sole was, and when the latter finally caught up, he’d groggily stumble upon the main room to find the old man smoking a breakfast cigar at the table, with the smell of coffee wafting through the air as a pot was set to brew.  Today indicated no such occurrence.  Sole got out of bed, and shuffled out into the hallway, looking both ways.  From here he could see the main room and the bathroom, but no Longfellow.  That just left his room.  The oak door was eerily quiet, as Sole crept up to it.  Sole suddenly felt like he was betraying Longfellow’s privacy – despite having lived together for months, Sole had never actually been inside the room.  It was an unspoken rule they had; Longfellow would keep it discreetly at all times, and Sole would pretend like it didn’t exist.

Sole raised a hand to the wood and hesitated before knocking apprehensively.

“Longfellow?  You there?”

No response.

Sole gulped before deliberately turning the brass knob and stepping carefully into the room.  The air was thick with cigar smoke, and smelled of stale booze.  Ammo and bottles littered the small table off to the side, and the window was open, keeping the room so brusquely cold, that Sole wondered why Longfellow didn’t just sleep outside.  On the bed, Longfellow, in a crumpled white dress shirt, lay crumpled himself, eyes squeezed shut.  However, the terseness of his pained expression told Sole that despite this, he was not asleep.

“Are you alright?”

“Does it look like I’m alrigh’?” Longfellow growled.

“What’s wrong?” Sole inquired, not the least bit offput by Longfellow’s typical, ornery disposition.

“What’s wrong is tha’ my head feels like it’s been kicked in by a brahmin, and yer still standin’ there blatherin’ away at me!”

_A headache,_  Sole was thoughtful.   _That should be an easy enough fix – assuming there’s nothing more serious going on_.

“Hang in there,” Sole said in a low voice, before padding quietly back out, down the hallway and to the small kitchenette.

“Just take me out back and shoot me,” Longfellow croaked miserably.

When Sole returned, he had a tin of purified water filled up, and a wet rag.  Longfellow’s eyes were still pinched shut.

“I brought you some water – it’s important you keep hydrated, that could be a main cause for your headache.  Especially given your uh…lifestyle.”  Sole set the tin on the dingy nightstand.

Longfellow cracked a bleary eye open, “You think I don’ know that?  I’ve had more hangovers than you’ve had birthdays. I know to drink my damn water.”

Longfellow shoved himself upright and took a few deep gulps of water.

“I’m more than two-hundred years old.”  Sole shot back, as Longfellow replaced the tin onto the nightstand.

When Longfellow was settled in again, Sole placed the rag across his face.

“Now, how’s that?”

Longfellow’s face twitched before his pained expression melted away.

“Mm.  Better.”

Sole snorted, “Figures, a tough old codger like you is rendered useless by a small headache.”

“Watch yerself,” Longfellow grunted, “Once I’m better I’ll show you just how much strength, this ‘old codger’ has regained.”

There were a few moments of silence that hung between the two men before Sole started laughing, and after another beat, Longfellow did too, before trailing off into a series of coughs.  He let out a pained groan at the jostling movements, and Sole came over to readjust the towel on his head.

“Thanks Cap’n.”

“Get some rest,”  Sole murmured, before taking leave, and shutting the door quietly behind him.

**Piper** :  From the other room, Sole heard a loud, cacophonous sneeze, followed shortly by a fed-up “Dammit!”.

Sole let himself indulge in a secret little grin, before composing himself, getting up, and poking his head through the nearest doorway.  Piper was hunched over a typewriter, her hands pressed concentratedly at her temples, as if willing inspiration to flit through her fingers so she could grab it and fling it onto the blank paper loaded into the register before her.

“Bless you.”

Piper groaned, her hands sliding over her eyes.

“I think I’m getting sick.”

Sole made a sympathetic face, “That’s bad timing.”

“I _know_ , I was planning on releasing the next issue of the ‘Publick’ tomorrow, but I have nothing!”

Piper moaned again, her hands smoothing agitatedly over her face.

“You should get some rest,” Sole suggested, “Go to bed, I’ll make you some soup, and get you some water.  Who knows, maybe you’ll even feel a bit better after a good night’s sleep.”

“That’s optimistic,” Piper muttered.

Sole stared dumbly back.

“Hopeful…maybe a bit too hopeful,” Piper continued.

Sole cocked an eyebrow, stepping so he could fully lean against the doorframe now.  He crossed his arms, waiting for the accusation that sat at the tip of her tongue.

“Feeling the need to pacify a guilty conscience?” Piper whipped around, and jabbed a finger in Sole’s direction, her eyes glinting as they did when she was in one of her ‘ _newspaper-clippings-thumbtacked-to-the-walls-and-red-_ string’ moods.

Sole narrowed his eyes in mock defensiveness, “And just what are you implying, Wright?”

Piper pursed her lips, trying to string together a coherent thought through the vicious throbbing of her headache.

“I think that  _someone_  – and I won’t name names – but,  _someone_ , had the flu last week, and  _someone else_ took care of them, and now perhaps that  _someone else_  now has the flu.”

Sole rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, nodding, “That’s quite the theory you have there. Maybe you should make that your next article.”

“Maybe I will,” Piper agreed.  “And the headline will be;  _From Commonwealth Hero to Patient Zero; the Sad and Totally Preventable Death of the Commonwealth’s No. 1 Investigative Journalist_.”

“A little wordy, don’t you think?”

Piper grinned, sauntering towards Sole, “We can blame that on my fever induced delirium.”

Sole uncrossed his arms to accept Piper as she came to him, his arms loosely wrapping around her.  From this proximity, he could see the more prominent flush that washed over her skin, and feel the feverish heat that radiated off of her.

“We can,” Sole agreed, “But first, we should let you recover from said delirium.”

“Mm,” Piper sighed, pressing herself closer to Sole, and nuzzling into the comforting crook of his neck.

“C’mon then,” Sole murmured, sweeping an arm under her legs to scoop her up. “Off to bed you go.”

Piper wrinkled her nose but let him carry her.

“What?”

“It’s such a cliché,” Piper remarked, “the whole damsel in distress thing.”

“More like damsel in delirium,” Sole teased, “This is one hundred percent necessary.  You can’t be trusted to walk to bed by yourself in your current state.”

Piper snorted, and let her head fall against his chest.

“Sure, sure, I suppose you owe me this – patient zero.”

Sole laughed and gently kicked the door open to her room, before encroaching on the bed, and laying Piper gently down.  She sat up to shrug off her coat and kick off her boots.

“You get settled in, I’ll whip up some soup or something for you.”

“Thanks Blue,” Piper called weakly, already nestling into the covers.

Sole took a last look at her before heading out the door, letting a small smile play at his lips at the sight of Piper resting.

**Gage** :  When Sole stepped into his quarters at the summit of Fizztop Mountain, he could tell something was off right away.  He paused, as he shut the door behind him, trying to discern the strange mood; nothing appeared out of place, it was quiet – as it usually was this time of night.  But Gage – where was Gage?  Sole didn’t need to look far, a few steps in and he could spot a huddled mass on the couch.

“Gage?” Sole’s eyebrows knitted together.

Upon peering over the back of the couch, Sole saw Gage’s huddled form beneath a thick blanket, shivering despite the heat that radiated off of him.

“Hey b-boss,” Gage grinned deliriously.

Sole raised an eyebrow, “You look like shit.”

“Aww, that ain’t nice.”

Upon further observation, Sole noticed the slick sheen that coated his skin and the sickly flush to his pallor.

“You have a fever.” Sole remarked.

“I’m  _hot_ ,” Gage winked before chuckling.

“I think it’s frying your brain.” Sole snarked.

“Naw, boss, I’m hot – for  _you_.” He laughed stupidly.

Sole rolled his eyes, rubbing tiredly at the back of his neck.  He should get him to bed; Gage was obviously sick and the sooner he…returned back to normal, the better.  After bed, then what?  Pre-war memories swam to the forefront of his mind; when he had been sick, Nora had made him soup.  Soup always helped. Gage probably wouldn’t have an appetite until his fever broke though.

“Alright Gage, we need to get you to bed, and take care of this fever.”

Gage babbled incoherently as Sole circled him, trying to figure out the best way to get Gage to the bed in the corner, and up those damned steps.  Sole tugged off the blankets, and Gage whined.

“Boss, I’m  _cold_!”

“C’mon, we’ll take care of you, you have to trust me though.”

Sole bent down, and gripped one of Gage’s arms, before maneuvering it over his shoulders, and hoisting the large man up.

Gage rose with Sole, and the latter stiffened, trying to add support and steady the dizzy sway that overtook Gage.

“I don’t feel so good…”

Gage’s feverish skin pressed to Sole felt like it might irradiate his insides.

“No shit, you’re hot as hell.”

Gage barked out a guffaw, “Told ya boss.”

Sole groaned, “ _Shut up_.”

Clumsily, but surely enough, Sole and Gage inched closer and closer to the bed in a haphazard, deliberate pattern.  One step, steady, pry Gage’s limbs from whatever had distracted him, step, steady, pry. Rinse.  Repeat.  Sole and Gage eventually arrived at the two steps that led to the raised platform the bed was on, off in the corner.  The incline daunted Sole; getting Gage this far had been tough enough.

“Alright,” Sole readjusted his grip on Gage, “careful now, we’re at the stairs.”

“Shit boss, stairs don’t scare me.”

Sole snorted and took an experimental step up.  Gage’s dead weight pulled him down sharply and Sole staggered back, frantically trying to resteady them.

“Dammit, I said  _careful_!”

Sole’s arm caught the railing, and grip on Gage be damned, he yanked the two of them up by the metal railing.

“Don’t be so rough with me,” Gage grumbled, as Sole yanked him up the steps, catching him as he staggered forward.

The air was forced from Sole’s lungs as Gage fell onto him.

“Okay, just a little bit more,” Sole hissed, trying to conserve his strength as he struggled to move Gage to the bed.

With a last burst of energy, Sole launched both he and Gage onto the plush bed.  Gage moaned, and his head lulled to the side.  Sole meanwhile struggled to catch his breath, rolling over onto his back.

“Alright Gage,” Sole puffed, “I’m going to go get a wet rag to lay on your forehead – we need to get your fever down.”

“Yessir.” Gage mumbled.

Sole propped himself up by his forearms, before pushing himself all the way up.  The bed shifted beneath Gage, jostling him like a ragdoll. As Sole was about to leave, a calloused touch singed his wrist.

“Gage?”

His eyes were cracked open now; watery and fatigued, but clearer than Sole had seen them prior that day.

“I don’ like…talkin’ about feelings an’ shit but…thanks boss. I…appreciate ya.”

Sole’s chest squeezed, and he snorted to draw attention away from the pink that threatened his own cheeks.

“Don’t be gross.  You don’t think I already know that?”

Sole gave Gage’s hand a squeeze, before removing it and dropping it back down onto the bed.

“Just shut up and get better already.”

Gage’s head swam as Sole left to get the wet rag.  He hoped to hell he remembered this when he awoke again.

**Preston** :  Preston sneezed loudly into the kerchief he had crumpled in his hand, damp from the fever he was currently sweating out.  His head throbbed incessantly, leading him to keep his eyes pinched shut, for when he opened them, bright sparks of pain assaulted him, and his vision swam.

Hours must’ve passed, with Preston sweating, and floating in and out of consciousness.  As his fever began to subside, his throat and nose seemed to closeup more.  When he finally peeked one feeble eye open, night had already fallen.  The space around him was done in deep blues and blacks, and floating in the middle all of it, was Sole’s face.

“Sole?” Preston mumbled disoriented, half thinking he was hallucinating.

“Garvey, you look like hell.”

Preston let out a short laugh, that turned into a cough that sent tremors through his weak frame.

“I  _feel_  like hell.”

Sole made a sympathetic face, “Is there anything I can get for you?”

Despite his sickly state, Preston still managed to shoot Sole one of his warm smiles, “No, my fever has gone down I think, so that’s good.  I should be better after some rest.”

Sole looked thoughtful, as he took a knee at Preston’s bedside, and smoothed his hand over his forehead.

“You feel fine temperature wise.”

“See?” Preston let his eyes fall shut, “I’ll be just fine.”

The mattress dipped sharply beside Preston and his eyes flew open to see Sole climbing into bed next to him.

“Sole, what –“

“Moral support.  Now scoot over.” Sole said casually, as if Preston had asked him about the weather.

Preston shifted to make room for Sole, half wishing he still had the fever to hide the flush that he knew had probably overtaken his face.

“You’re going to get sick too.”

Sole adjusted himself so that he was comfortable, resting one arm underneath his head, and throwing the other one over Preston’s torso.

“Then you can lay at my bed side.”

Preston cocked an eyebrow, a dilute version of his usual skeptical expression.

“Is that so?  And won’t I just get sick again?”

“No! We’re going to build up each other’s immunity.  This is actually super healthy for us in the long run.”  Sole looked dead serious.

Preston wheezed a short, flimsy laugh, but relaxed into the new arrangement.

“Alright, but I don’t want to hear you complain about how bad you feel then I pass this bug on to you.”

Sole made a face, “You’ve got no heart, Garvey.”

Silence and a comfortable warmth lulled them to sleep.   _I do have a heart_ , Preston thought as he felt the precarious consciousness that tethered him to the waking world dissolve,  _but it belongs to you now_.

**Strong** : “Strong angry!”

Sole sighed, without looking up from his book.

“I know buddy, I know.”

“Strong want to smash!”

“Yep.”

“Strong doesn’t want to rest!”

Sole sighed again, putting down his book, and tried to appear empathetic for the super mutant.  Not that empathy was valued by Strong, but still.  His large, beefy arm was held in a makeshift sling  consisting of a tarp Sole and MacCready had found around Sanctuary.  It had taken both of them plus Preston to hold Strong in place so Curie could set the bone.  And that was  _after_  they had managed to tranquilize him into submission.

“I know, but you’re hurt.  You need to.  The more you rest now, the sooner you’ll be able to smash again, okay?”

“But Strong want to smash now!  Smash now!  Smash –“ Strong, in his rage, had tried to move his injured arm, and his angry cry broke off into a pained wail.

“Hey buddy, ssh,”  Sole tried to console him, carefully rising to his feet with his arms raised up.

Supermutants were formidable enough without a reason to be angry, and now Sole was sitting in a confined space, with one that had a helluva reason.  Strong’s breathing was labored as he favored his treated arm, a low moan sounding from his throat.  Sole tried carefully to approach, wanting to make sure he hadn’t done anything to further injure himself.  He was so busy focusing on Strong that he hadn’t realized until it was too late, when his foot landed on a piece of debris, and slid out from under him.  Sole flung his arms out, desperate to catch himself on one of the nearby surfaces.  Instead, his right hand just barely missed the counter of the nearby counter, and sent a beaker shattering to the floor.

Sole swore, his rump sore from his hard landing.  From a few feet away Strong watched Sole, uncharacteristically quiet, and dare Sole say…thoughtful.

“Strong?” Sole checked on the mutant, the bizarre silence off putting.  “You good buddy?”

Then a strange garble sounded from Strong, his mouth agape, his breathing growing heavy.  Sole stared dumbly at his large, green companion for a few moments, before he realized that he was laughing.

“Puny human smash!  Smash good!”

A grin broke out across Sole’s face, “You like that, huh?”

“Yeah! Strong like smash!”

Sole got to his feet again, smiling broadly as he picked up another nearby beaker, and threw it to the ground.  It scattered into a million pieces.

Strong’s good arm thumped against the floor.

“Again! Again!”

Sole spotted a nearby mug for his next victim, and tossed it to the ground.  Then the air was filled with the sound of things breaking and a mingle of Strong’s bizarre, warbling laughter, and Sole’s own human one.

Sole had obliterated almost every breakable thing in the room by the time Curie had rushed in looking frantic.

“What on earth is ‘appening?” She demanded.

Sole was doubled over in laughter, Strong guffawing just a few feet away, his good arm smacking emphatically against the wall.

“ _Mon dieu_ ,” Curie shook her head, leaving them to their antics.

There would be plenty of time to scold Sole later.

**X6-88** :  X6 sat slumped against the wall, his breathing coming in labored breaths.  A droplet of sweat rolled down his temple as X6 overheated, although not from exertion.  A fever wracked his body, of about a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, give or take a degree, he’d estimate.  The Director had been relayed to him, and who was he to stall it? Sick or otherwise. Now X6 was sitting in an empty corridor of the BioScience wing.  Who knew when anyone would find him. X6 wasn’t even sure if he wanted them to; they’d curl their lips at him, and deem him disobedient – Volkert had told him to remain in bed until the fever subsided, after all.  Or worse yet, they would call him foolish.  A flash of anger burned through X6, further scalding his boiling blood. He was not foolish.

These worst case scenarios played in his mind on loop, the SRB dismantling him, retiring him for such a ridiculous show of absurdity.  Through the hazy fog of his delirium, the one thing that remained sharp was his anger; what would the Director have to say?  He’d be so disappointed.

A whirring noise sounded from his right, and without looking, X6 knew it was because someone had now entered the corridor.  He waited for some labcoat’s smarmy face to swim into view, but was pleasantly taken aback when it was in fact the Director’s that did.

“S-Sir, I-“

His words faltered as his lungs struggled to tiredly bring in air.  A hot flash burned him, and he felt his head lull weakly to the side.  Imbecile.  Weak, foolish imbecile.

“X6,” Sole’s gentle voice cut through his haze like a knife through warm butter.

He felt something soft against his clammy cheek.  Sole’s hand, tilting his face up.  He tsk’ed, before carefully releasing X6’s face.  In the next moment, the floor tilted under X6’s gaze, and he felt himself being hoisted up by his armpits.  One arm was slung around the Director’s shoulders, as one of the Director’s arms reached around to support X6.

“S-Sole, I’m so-“

“Hush now,” Sole murmured, “You need rest.”

A whirlwind of motion passed by X6 as Sole helped move him back to his own personal quarters.

“I-I live d-down –“

“Hush, I said.  That’s an order.”  

Though there was no authority in Sole’s voice.

The scent of lavender wafted into X6’s face, announcing their arrival to Sole’s private quarters.

X6 lost track of the minutes as Sole gently released him onto his bed, the plush comforter infinitely more comfortable than the hardness of the corridor he’d been resigned to for the past few hours.  A welcomed draft cooled his burning arms, as Sole removed his leather jacket, and draped it over the back of his desk chair.  A similar sensation washed over his feet – Sole must’ve been taking his boots off.

X6 rolled onto his back, his eyes shut as a feverish shudder wracked his body.  He tingled unpleasantly as dizziness tilted his brain and tossed him through nauseating loops, even with his eyes shut firmly.

“Sole I’m r-really sorry, I truly thought I c-could –“

The voice at the back of his mind mocked the vulnerable stutter in his voice.  X6 hoped the fever fried him.

“Ssh,”  Sole’s consoling voice was suddenly very near, as his cool breath fanned over X6’s face.  

He smelled like lavender too.

“Get well X6, then we can speak.”

“But I-“

X6’s stomach did flips, but he couldn’t tell if it was guilt or the nausea.

“You’ve done nothing wrong.  Now rest.”

X6 felt something soft encroach on his hand, squeezing gently.  X6 squeezed back, clinging to it as he drifted out of consciousness.


End file.
